


Rory's Choice

by Nicor_Fyrweorm



Series: Last of the Time Lords [12]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Development, Day Off, Doctor-lite episode, Gen, I Don't Even Know, No Doctor, No TARDIS (Doctor Who), Why Did I Write This?, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicor_Fyrweorm/pseuds/Nicor_Fyrweorm
Summary: Rory wanted to get back to the Doctor. David wanted to write a song. The Colonel wanted to find the culprit.And the Master was nowhere to be seen.Or the one where Rory has a slow day, meets people, and realizes a couple things.
Relationships: Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart & Rory Williams, Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart & The Master (Simm), David Bowie & Rory Williams, The Master & Rory Williams
Series: Last of the Time Lords [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511825
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Rory's Choice

**Author's Note:**

> The only warnings I have are that this episode might be slow-paced, and that the title was chosen for kicks, it has little to nothing to do with the episode _Amy's Choice._ Sorry for getting your hopes up.

It's late o'clock – or extremely early o'clock, he doesn't know nor care, frankly. The night is chilly but dry, and the cigarette between his lips takes care of keeping him warm. He'd been walking by the park, with the only company of the streetlamps and the radio clipped to his belt, but now, he's finally found a bench to sit in and let his fingers toy the strings of his guitar. 

He takes in a deep drag, holds it until it burns as hot as his anger, and finally lets it out. 

“Nothing's _working,”_ he hisses at his guitar, clutching the neck for a moment before relaxing his grip. “ _No one_ works. Come on, David, _use your head,”_ he chastises himself, before dropping back with another huff. 

He brings his cigarette back to his lips and finally turns to the radio, playing some rock'n'roll station, just as whatever cat is singing says 'lotta soul'. 

“You don't say,” he snorts, turning the radio off, and leans back once more, letting his head drop to stare at the sky. 

If he squints, he thinks he can make out some stars. 

Slowly, his hands shift their grip on his guitar, and he starts picking at the strings again, letting the sky and the chill air and those two words, _lotta soul,_ guide his fingers. 

Fa, mi, fa again… Maybe fa major? His fingers run over the strings, caressing them, and turn picking into strumming, notes into chords. Down-up down-up… now up-up… Fa major 7 to mi minor – no, to mi minor 7. Fmaj7 down-up, Em7 down-up… Up-down-up… 

He changes to a do, fingers set on the new rhythm, and the cold finally catches up to make it sound… Well, _strangled_ is almost too nice for it. 

He snorts, calmer already, and straightens in his seat, taking another drag from his cigarette even as he reaches for the guitar case by his side and the flat-pick he's sure is in one of its pockets. 

He stops midway, readjusting his jacket, when he hears the wind pick up – and stops when he notices the _rasp_ in that noise, along the fact there's _no wind._ So, he turns to the radio, picking it up and checking that yes, he _did_ turn it off, so why does it sound like there's a weird undulating static coming out of it? It's like the radio broadcasts from Continental Europe, fading in and out on waves of phase, growing louder and louder— 

The wind _does_ pick up then, a sharp gust that bats his hair into his face and sends the cigarette rolling down the pavement when he opens his mouth to curse— 

A light fades in, sparkling and jerking around, above the trees in the middle of the park, and if he'd still had the cigarette between his lips, it would've fallen down in his shock. The light fades, comes back stronger, zigzags all over the park, goes off, the wind blows louder – and a large shape materializes under the light, some kind of dark and large box rattling and jerking and bouncing off the ground— 

Something falls out of it and David _jumps._

The light flickers even as the sound and wind seem to fade, until only the writhing lump wrestling with whatever is bundling it remain – and finally, the man rips the cloak off and jerks to his feet, only to collapse as soon as he's upright. 

“Doctor! _Ow…_ Doctor! What's going on? What… Where…?” he shouts, sitting up more slowly this time and looking around with eyes dilated in fear. “Who are you?” 

And David gawks and looks all around the park, but the mysterious light and noise don't appear again. 

“Who am I? Who are _you?”_

“I'm Rory,” the stranger answers as he stands up, picking up the coat with a frown, and David isn't sure if he's more surprised by his nonchalant answer or by his _ancient_ clothes. 

“I'm David,” he says by virtue of saying _something,_ and because the stranger did introduce himself. “Now, what was _that?”_ he asks, gesturing to Rory and the park and the light-box thing appearing and disappearing out of _nowhere._

Rory seems too busy checking his pockets to answer, though, frowning in worry as he takes out a leather wallet and a strange metallic contraption before putting them back and tugging the cloak on. 

He looks even _weirder_ now. 

“What year is it?” he asks, and David blinks in surprise. 

“Huh, 1969. Like, you know, it has been for _the past two months?”_ he answers, starting to worry whether he really needs to get the police here to deal with this guy. 

He doesn't look like much, but who knows with the crazies? No, David knows a thing or two about brawling, and he's unwilling to end at the wrong end of a fist against a psycho. 

“Right! Right. Hey, is that a radio? Can I borrow it?” Rory asks, pointing at the radio abandoned on the bench, and David's first reaction is to grab it in his hand and run off. 

But the _light…_

“Sure,” he answers at last, passing it over and putting his guitar back into its case in preparation for whatever may happen. “What for?” 

“I need to make a call,” Rory explains under his breath, taking out the metallic thing again and fiddling with it with a deep frown. “Which setting would help with this…?” he whispers, but before David can do more than frown, Rory turns the thing to the radio— 

It lights up with a high-pitched whir, yellow light bathing the radio – and the nearest lamppost blows up. 

Both men jump with a startled shout, before David turns to Rory with wide eyes. 

“Right. Do you have a phone I can borrow?” Rory asks, _calmly,_ but his eyes are as wide as David's. 

“Do you have an actual number, or will you blow up my television instead?” he asks before he can stop himself. 

Rory looks startled, shifting his gaze to some spot over David's shoulder to avoid his accusatory eyes— 

But the shouts of a neighbor awakened by the exploded lamppost startle them back to the present. 

“Come on, run!” David hisses as he grabs Rory's arm and pulls him in the direction of his flat before someone calls the police on them for vandalism. 

What the Hell has David gotten into? 

* * *

Rory is trying not to freak out, he really is, but it's easier said than done. He's also trying not to think of the Doctor's words before everything went crazy, but that's even harder. 

David is in the kitchen, making them some tea and talking about who knows what. Rory stopped listening after he mentioned his flat mate won't be around this weekend, and so it's just the two of them for as long as Rory needs to stay around. 

Which he _doesn't_ want to think about. Because if he does, he sees the Doctor's sharp grin, the madness in his golden eyes, and feels the same dread that kept him mute aboard the TARDIS twisting in his stomach to the point he thinks he'll be sick. _And then,_ everything turns to flashing lights and bells tolling and the Doctor's fear and his extended hand reaching for Rory as he is thrown out of the doors— 

No, he doesn't want to think about that. 

Or the fact he's stuck in 1969. 

From now on, he's going to bring his phone with him regardless of the time period. The Doctor has a phone in the TARDIS, Rory could call if he had his phone with him, or if he knew the number. But he doesn't. And so, he's stuck. 

Besides, what _happened_ to the TARDIS? Was it another Neverwere? Is the Doctor drifting in the Time Vortex in a broken TARDIS, forever lost? Is he injured or dead aboard his own ship? Has he been stranded like Rory in a different location or time period? Does he even have the TARDIS with him to get out of there and come pick Rory up? 

… Would he _want_ to pick Rory up, after the mess that was their last attempt at a conversation? 

_“And you, Rory Williams, who fancy yourself my_ friend… _You are just a means to an end. I don't need a human to get what I want. It's just more convenient if I keep you around.”_

… No, stop. Rory can't think like that, not now. Stop. Think. He's stuck in a strange time period without a TARDIS or a Time Lord. What would the Doctor do? 

Other than freak out. Rory remembers his mad scrambling when the TARDIS fell down the hole in London. So, think about the Atraxi instead. No TARDIS, no screwdriver, no Jack Harkness and Torchwood and their resources. 

First step, find an ally, a local contact, like Rory was for the Doctor back then. Which, as David comes into the living room with two cups of hot tea, Rory scratches off the list. 

He has a local contact, which in turn means he has a base of operations, if he can call the flat that. 

Alright, first step done. Next one is to get some actual information. 

“Thanks. Say, where are we?” Rory asks as he accepts the cup, and David takes a seat on the armchair before he answers, brushing his mousy hair out of his eyes as he goes. 

Huh. Turns out his left eye is black while his right is blue. It wasn't the lighting playing tricks on Rory back at the park, then. Good to know. 

“We're in Beckenham, Kent, London, United Kingdom, Europe, _Earth—”_

“Yeah, I-I know about that part, thanks,” Rory interrupts as David's tirade goes on, grimacing and hiding behind his teacup. 

“Well, _excuse me_ for suspecting you wouldn't. What planet are you from?” David asks instead, furrowing his brow yet with his eyes alight in interest. 

Of all the people he could materialize in front of, Rory has got _lucky._ He's not sure he would've been as calm as David is if _that_ was how his first meeting with the Doctor would've gone. 

“Earth, actually. I'm from Leadworth.” 

“Never heard of it.” 

“Small town, not really surprising.” 

David hums, but the way he's glaring at Rory tells him he doesn't believe him at all. 

Ah, whatever. It isn't like this could be any weirder than Rory appearing out of thin air in his 1847 outfit, or the failed attempt at using the Doctor's screwdriver. 

“Really, _I_ am from Earth. But the man I travel with is not,” he explains, and _that_ is when David perks up. “He goes by the Doctor, and he's an alien from the planet Gallifrey. He travels across space to stop anomalies that would destroy it or hurt people, and has something of a fondness for Earth. I guess it helps that he looks human, so he can blend in. I was helping him fix some cracks in the fabric of the universe when our ship malfunctioned and I fell out,” he explains as simply as he can, choosing to omit the 'time traveling' aspect of their life for David's sanity. 

Though judging by the way he's grinning like a kid on Christmas, he could probably take it without any problems. 

“Are you serious? Actually serious? You travel with a real alien?” 

“Yes, I do. Though it's more of a babysitting job. He _looks_ human, but he's not. He needs someone to remind him how to do things, sometimes,” he answers with a grin of his own, relaxing at how well things are going. 

Oh, yeah. Rory _definitely_ got lucky with David. 

“So, what happens now? Do you have some sort of communicator to get in contact with the Doctor and find a place for him to pick you up once the ship is fixed?” David asks, and Rory's grin slips off his face, replaced by a grimace. 

“I do, but I don't have it with me. Our last mission was – it would've given us away if I brought my phone with me,” he explains, and David looks curious for a second before just nodding, taking the mention of a 'portable phone' in stride. “I thought I could use the screwdriver with your radio, but I don't really know how to use it. I'm sure it can be done, but…” he adds as he takes said tool out of its pocket, shrugging even as he fiddles with it. 

Rory's lucky he got David as his contact, yes, but he's even luckier that the tailcoat he ended up with when he fell out of the TARDIS was the Doctor's and not his own. This way, Rory has the psychic paper and the sonic screwdriver… but what if the Doctor needs the sonic to fix the TARDIS? 

_No, don't think about this now. The Doctor can make do without the sonic, he's done it before._

What Rory needs to do is contact the Doctor and get his instructions. He _has_ to get back to him, to make sure he's really alright, he _can't_ leave him alone. Never leave the Doctor alone, no matter what he says. 

“The what now?” David asks, snapping Rory out of his head. “You mean that thing? How is that a screwdriver?” 

“Sonic screwdriver. It's sonic, it makes noise,” he answers, activating the screwdriver on a setting that he's fairly sure won't do anything, and it whirs innocently in his hand, lighting up. 

“And the screwdriver part?” 

“Well, the Doctor uses it more as a multifunctional tool, actually. It opens doors, scans things, interacts with machines…” 

“Blows up lampposts,” David adds with a lifted eyebrow, and Rory grins. 

“It does far worse than that,” he muses, thinking back to Leadworth two years ago, when the blue screwdriver made _everything_ go crazy before it broke. “But I suppose it started as little more than an actual screwdriver, or what a sonic screwdriver is supposed to do, and he added on that.” 

“He _added_ on that? When you say he's a doctor, you mean he's a scientist?” David adds curiously, and Rory takes a sip of his tea before shaking his head. 

“I mean he's _the_ Doctor. Not _a_ Doctor, he's _the_ Doctor, the definite article. That's his name. And he _is_ a bit of a jack of all trades,” Rory explains with a grin, and thinks he might know what the Doctor feels when _he_ delivers this explanation when he sees David's wide-eyed expression. 

… What the Doctor _should_ feel if he were to deliver this explanation. That's the reason Rory can't leave him alone, after all, not until he finds himself again. Especially this face of the Doctor. Rory is sure he would be _delighted_ to prove other people stupid were they to question his name. 

No, that's Rory's job, to get the Doctor back to himself. And that's why he needs to get back to him, even if the Doctor himself doesn't want him to be there, even if he doesn't believe himself capable of being _the Doctor._ Because that's what nurses do, care for people when things are rough, while the Doctors search for the cure. 

And Rory will be the _best_ nurse the Doctor could've found. 

“Are you alright?” David asks, appearing next to Rory and resting his hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his mind. 

“Yes. Yes, sorry, I got lost in thought,” he answers after a blink, taking another sip of his tea to find it colder than he'd thought it'd be. “It's been a long day.” 

“I hear you, man. Let's get some shuteye then. I'll grab some blankets for you, and you can take the couch. It's quite comfy,” David offers with a grin, and Rory accepts, grateful. 

He's careful when taking off his 1847 clothing, both because of the Doctor's tailcoat and because they are still the Doctor's clothes, and they might very well be from the _actual_ 19th century. 

The street is empty, but Rory still takes an extra second to scan it before the chill gets to him and he moves away from the window. The screwdriver feels strange in his grip, yet he's still reluctant to let it go as he lies on the couch, finally putting a thick blanket over his naked chest. 

There's _no way_ he's wrinkling the shirt by sleeping on it. The Doctor may be the one that insists on propriety and wearing the right clothing, but Rory is _not_ leaving the outfit behind if he's whisked away in the morning, so he'll wear it just one more day. He didn't dirty it at the hospital, it just smells a bit of lime from the solution. _And_ he's not sure he can fit in David's clothes… or that he wants to. 1969 clothes are… well, they're weirder than some of the alien outfits the Doctor's put Rory in, to be honest. 

… Why is the TV on? And _ugh,_ yeah, it's cold. Whatever, Rory will wear his vest and neck cloth and the Doctor's tailcoat in the morning, he can put on the white shirt to sleep in. It's quite comfy, after all. 

So, that's what he does, turn the TV off – it shows nothing but static, anyway – and put on his shirt. And then, he lies down on the couch again, burrows against the back to mute the clicking of the TV cooling off and the rattling of the wind outside the window, and falls asleep with the sonic under his pillow. 

* * *

All things said, the television explodes a lot more quietly than the lamppost, if it can be called an explosion. It just lets out a _pop_ with a crackle of static and a fizz as a string of smoke goes out from it, but it could be a full-on explosion for what it means. 

“What the—! I was _joking!”_ David shouts when he gets off from the floor, staring at the television with horror. 

Still rumpled from sleep where he's sitting on the couch in his wrinkled white shirt, Rory blinks slowly. Then, just as slowly, he looks down at his extended arm and the lighted up screwdriver he's pointing at David's bedroom – and the television sitting against the wall next to the door. 

Another blink and _then_ he pulls it away with bright red cheeks. 

“Sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to! I don't even know why I would do that! I'm so sorry!” 

“You better buy me a new one or Mary is going to kill me!” David tells him, and Rory immediately accepts, fumbling with his clothes and the screwdriver still tightly clenched in his grip before vanishing behind the bathroom door. “Oh God, Mary is going to kill me…” 

David had forgotten about Rory – or rather, he'd thought it had all been a dream. He has weird dreams sometimes, though not as many now since the London Evacuation. They said there had been some chemical in the sewers that released fumes and made people hallucinate, so they had to evacuate the whole city until they finally cleaned the sewers, weird as that sounds. The yeti had been really realistic… 

But back to Rory. Yes, David had thought he'd dreamt the whole thing… Though, judging by the state of the television, he was clearly wrong. 

He hopes Rory or his alien Doctor friend have enough money for a new television… 

Wait. Rory is real. That means the Doctor With No Name is real. _Aliens_ are real. 

David sits on the couch. Somehow, everything feels far more _real_ in the light of day… 

Rory comes back somewhere between ten seconds or ten minutes later, adjusting his neck cloth, and David breathes again. 

“Are you going out in that?” he hears himself say before his brain can process the thought, and Rory snorts. 

“You sound like my dad. Yes, I am. It's a shirt, a pair of pants, a vest and a tailcoat. What's wrong with it?” 

“I think you're weirder than any alien,” David laughs, but Rory just shrugs good-humoredly. 

“Why? I have nothing to be ashamed of. And this looks good on me, doesn't it?” 

“Good point,” David laughs, shuffling in his spot a bit self-consciously before he jumps to his feet. “You know what, you're right. Let's go get some grub and see if anyone knows anything about your friend. Or about anything weird, really,” he proposes, and Rory lights up. 

“Please, tell me there's coffee.” 

There is coffee. Or, at least, there _was_ coffee, before the police cordoned _Janice's._

“What happened here?” David asks the first man he finds, waiting with other people behind the line of bobbies. “Was there a robbery?” he adds, nodding at all the glass on the street from the broken windows. 

“Something like,” the guy tells him, grumpy, as he takes a drag of his cigarette. “Apparently, someone broke in early this morn and there was this _godawful_ noise. Neighbor called the pigs when they heard the glass blow up, and here we are now. Bastards. Best pies in town, and they just go and do this!” 

“And the worst of all is that neither Janice nor her husband are anywhere to be found,” another man adds when the first goes quiet. “Should've been there, the place's open, but no sign.” 

“That doesn't sound good,” Rory whispers behind him, and David takes a step back so they can talk without being overheard. 

“Does that sound like one of those alien things to you?” 

“I can't tell. It does look a bit like a robbery, but the disappearances are a bit too strange for my taste,” Rory hums, looking at the café, at David, and at the café again. “Maybe we should wait until the Doctor is here and can see it for himself.” 

David nods and gestures for Rory to follow. _Janice's_ may not be an option now, but there's another café in the next street— 

A car comes to a stop in front of them, and four men _in military uniforms_ get off. 

“What in blazes…?” 

They move without hesitation, undeterred by the crowd or the police, unmistakable in their khaki-colored uniforms and their berets, and the crowd is sent into loud whispers at their appearance. 

“Alright, I do think it's alien now. I mean, there was no IRA here, was there?” 

“The IRA? Why would they come to Britain? They're Irish!” David points out, and Rory has a moment of confusion before his face lights up with realization. 

“Oh, right! Sorry, I mixed up some things.” 

“Alright, everyone! Show's over, off with you!” one of the policemen shouts, and David shakes his head to clear his mind of Rory's weirdness. 

He's spent too long in space with that alien friend if he can't remember Ireland and England are two different places. 

“Right. Come on, let's—” 

“Now, wait up, you two,” a voice calls just behind them, and David turns around in surprise to see one of the soldiers. “What are your names?” 

“David Jones.” 

“Rory Pond.” 

“Is that so?” the soldier hums, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips and satisfaction in his eyes. “And you wouldn't happen to be traveling with someone else? A doctor, perhaps?” 

David tenses, turning to Rory, who looks surprised before narrowing his eyes. 

“Why would we be traveling? And with a doctor, to boot. David lives here, and I came to visit. On my own,” Rory tells the soldier, who hums once more with a nod. 

“And with those clothes.” 

“Yes, with these clothes. There isn't a dress code against what I'm wearing, as far as I'm aware,” Rory retorts calmly, and the soldier actually grins this time, his moustache stretching with his lips. 

“Not in the last century, there wasn't,” he answers, and Rory frowns before reaching for something inside his pocket. 

He brandishes the leather wallet a bit awkwardly, and this time, it is the soldier the one to blink in surprise. 

“Happy now, officer?” 

“Oh, definitely. I just wasn't aware the Doctor gave his companions personalized cards now.” 

Rory blinks and turns the wallet around, and David moves a step closer to see what is written in it. 

_Rory Williams, from 25/06/2010_

_Nurse and companion to the Doctor_

“From 2010? What does that mean?” David asks, but Rory just lets his head drop with a sigh. 

“Of _course._ Even _the psychic paper_ needs an instruction manual,” he groans under his breath, before pocketing the wallet and looking up at the soldier. “Yes, I travel with the Doctor. But David is a local, I met him yesterday. Who are you and how do you know the Doctor?” 

The soldier smiles and, after a look around to make sure they are really alone, he faces them once more. 

“Colonel Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. I met the Doctor some months back, when the Great Intelligence tried to take over London with robot yeti. He was traveling with Jamie McCrimmon and Victoria Waterfield, mid-18th and 19th century, respectively,” he answers, and though Rory grimaces with a knowing glint in his eyes, David has to take in another _very deep breath._

“What is he talking about?” he asks Rory in a level-headed voice, but Rory looks worried nonetheless. 

“Uh… Time travel. He's talking about time travel. The Doctor travels in space _and time._ I'm from the 21st century, year 2010,” Rory finally explains, and David has to remind himself to keep breathing. 

“Whoa…” 

“Indeed,” the Colonel agrees with a grin and a nod, before turning to Rory once more. “Is he around then? We could use the Doctor with this situation in our hands.” 

Rory grimaces. 

“Yeah, I'm afraid that'll be difficult. Something happened to the TARDIS and the Doctor and I split up. I don't even know if he's in this year, or in London. I don't even know—” Rory explains, though the way he cuts himself off from those last words takes the grin off of the Colonel's face. 

“I see… Well, fear not, good lad. As far as I've seen, the Doctor's resourceful if nothing else. If anyone can make it back here, it's him,” the Colonel answers with firmness, and it may take Rory a second to process the words, but he nods with determination when he does. 

“Oh, definitely. He's too stubborn to let anyone else win – or to let himself lose. Terrifying, too, when he puts his mind to it, but definitely stubborn,” Rory explains with a grin, and while David feels himself relaxing, finally past the shock of _time travel is real,_ the Colonel frowns. 

“Not how I would have described him,” he muses, and Rory startles before realization lights his eyes. 

“Oh, you must know another Doctor. Mine is stubborn, I promise you. Perhaps a bit too much. And with too much ego and yet too little self-esteem, if that makes sense.” 

“ _Another_ Doctor? Goodness, there's more of them?” the Colonel asks, wide-eyed in an expression of what some might call _fear,_ and Rory frowns before the words click. 

“No! No, there's just the one. He just changes faces sometimes. It's a trick of the Time Lords, his alien race. When they're about to die, they change their whole selves, face and body and personality, but keep all the memories. So, my Doctor is likely not your Doctor. I think. He did give the impression of his face being quite new.” 

“I don't think I understand,” David comments out loud, giving voice to both his and the Colonel's confusion. 

“It's hard to wrap one's mind around, true. I did some research on him, on his different faces, before joining him as a companion, so I think I have a better idea than most about regeneration. But to make this simple, is your Doctor blond?” Rory asks the Colonel, who takes a moment to get past his shock to answer with a shake of his head. “Mine is. About this tall, blond, round face, and his eyes do this thing where they go from brown to amber-green to gold, depending on his mood. He's a bit of a stickler for dressing appropriately for the time period, which is why I'm wearing this. We just came from 1847 Vienna when I fell out of the TARDIS.” 

“That… does seem both strange and yet fitting,” the Colonel muses, and that's when David decides to just go with it. 

For all he knows, there are spiders on Mars! And what would that change? He has a time traveler right in front of him now, and knowing that doesn't make Rory any less real, even if it explains his oddities. 

“Wait until you've met him. You haven't seen _strange_ yet,” Rory grouches, and David can't help his laughter then. 

“Man, I really want to meet him now, this Starman of yours,” he tells Rory with a grin, and even the Colonel cracks a smile at that. 

“Well, if that's the case, I better get back to the scene. I'll get as much information as I can, and maybe give the Doctor a surprise when he arrives to find the situation dealt with,” the Colonel tells them with a nod, and David knows what Rory is going to say before he says it. 

“Would it be alright if I helped? I've seen some things too, so I might have some ideas.” 

“And if you take him, you take me. He's my guest, I'm not leaving him alone,” David adds, and the Colonel needs only take a look at him before he agrees with a nod. 

Time to do some alien detective work! 

… Of course, that only lasts until they get into the actual café and another of the soldiers directs them to the kitchen. 

“The cash register was empty and everything was messed up. We think they were trying to cover up the crime as a robbery, but then we found this,” the soldier tells them, and David frowns. 

It smells weird in the kitchen, but since he hasn't been here before, he can't say what that strange smell reminds him off. The place is mighty dirty, though, with shreds of something reddish and rubbery on the ground and sticking to the counters, and David's first thought is that they are the remains of popped balloons. 

Even if that doesn't make sense. 

“It smells of ozone,” Rory comments as he walks in, scrunching his nose, before kneeling next to the rubbery things and carefully reaching for them with his screwdriver. 

“Careful with that thing. We don't want to blow up a stove or something,” David jokes, and the Colonel immediately turns to them with a serious expression. 

“Careful with what?” 

“I am _not_ going to use it! I've learned my lesson. I know some settings, but none that could help identify… Wait. Does it smell like blood to you?” he asks, cutting his indignation short as all his attention returns to the rubbery shreds. 

“Like _what?!”_

But the Colonel bypasses David's shock to kneel next to Rory, using his baton to carefully poke at one of the shreds – which reveals short black hair as it folds over itself. 

“I think we've found the missing owners.” 

David rushes to the bathroom and throws up. 

Janice and Erik. Oh, God, _Janice and Erik._ Is that what aliens really do? _Scalp_ their victims? What kind of _twisted psycho_ would do that to motherly Janice and cheerful Erik? Who could look at them and decide to _do that?_

David gags once more, but fortunately doesn't throw up again, grabbing onto the sides of the sink as the toilet finishes flushing at his back. _God,_ what a mess… 

He closes the door behind his back and grimaces, still tasting the bile in his mouth. Maybe he needs another rinse… 

“Are you alright?” Rory asks, suddenly by his side and giving him a piercing look, and David grimaces. 

“I need alcohol. _Lots_ of alcohol,” he answers, and Rory relaxes. 

“It feels like that at first, yes. Don't worry. We'll catch whoever did this and make sure they don't hurt anyone again. It might not be their choice, you know. Different species have different needs, and if they became stranded on Earth, there's nothing they could've done if they wanted to survive,” he tries to explain as they return to the kitchen, carefully avoiding the remains of the radio smashed all over the floor. 

“That doesn't make this better.” 

“Of course not. But just keep in mind that we might not be dealing with a killer, but with a lost person instead.” 

The Colonel gives Rory a strange look at those last words, but doesn't retort, and David decides to let the topic drop. A couple other soldiers are looking around, and suddenly David feels _very_ useless. 

“What are we even doing here? You and me, we're civilians. We shouldn't be here,” he whispers to Rory, who frowns at him. “I mean, look at them. They're trained soldiers, they can shoot anything that tries to get at them.” 

“We don't have guns. We don't _need_ guns,” Rory answers strongly, attracting the Colonel's attention once more. “The Doctor doesn't use guns; he doesn't _need_ them. And he doesn't want them either, so don't even suggest it. The only thing the Doctor needs to fix things is his brain. No TARDIS, no tools, only his head. I've seen him perform _amazing_ things using nothing but words, not even any alien Time Lord tricks. Just words. I've seen an armed fleet run from his name, a whole village make peace with a small family of stranded aliens, a jagged soldier trust a mortal enemy, the victim of a genocide save those who destroyed her people, and a defeated doctor develop a method that would save _billions_ in the years to come. Just. With. Words. Guns only kill and hurt. Words _create.”_

David only realizes he's gawking when he takes in a breath and his mouth feels dry. It feels like a dream, this whole situation, even more strongly than yesterday was. Surely this can only be the words of an admirer, not a true recount of a single man's feats, alien or not. There just can't be anyone that amazing, right? 

He looks at the Colonel, just in case, but he looks impressed yet _not_ surprised. Apparently, he does have a really good impression of this Doctor character too. 

“I'm glad to see not much has changed then, despite appearances. Though it does look like you have a lot more stories to tell about him, while I only have the one,” the Colonel comments as he guides them outside to let the soldiers work. “The Great Intelligence knew of the Doctor too, but rather than run, it tried to use him to its own purposes.” 

“Yeah, he has that too in the future. He makes enemies wherever he goes,” Rory sighs, but there's a smile on his face. “I still say it's the ego.” 

David chuckles, relaxing as they go, and feels wonder once more about the whole thing. 

“You have to tell me more about this Doctor Time whatever. He sounds interesting!” 

“Just the Doctor, Time Lord is the species. And _don't_ get him started on the specifics of just how different they are to humans. He'll blow your mind, and not in the good sense,” Rory winces, and this time, both David and the Colonel laugh out loud. 

“It seems I have missed much. Mister McCrimmon and Miss Waterfield did tell me some of their adventures with the Doctor, and I must admit I am curious, especially after dealing with the man himself,” the Colonel muses, guiding them to the car. “But first, let's go someplace more comfortable and see what we can do about this situation. If there is something I have learnt in my only encounter with the Doctor, it's that he'll come through somehow.” 

“Oh, that's for sure. So, where are we going? Torchwood, UNIT…?” Rory asks as they get in the car, with the Colonel driving. 

“What unit? I'm afraid I don't know which one you're talking about,” the Colonel answers, and David sees Rory's eyes widen in either surprise or dread. 

“Right, sorry. A bit ahead of the time.” 

David snorts. 

“Looks like time traveling isn't all advantages.” 

“You learn that as soon as you meet the Doctor, trust me. He has the _gift_ of getting people in trouble the _moment_ you meet him. You'll see.” 

“Mate, I got in trouble the moment I met _you,”_ David points out, and Rory's face is _hilarious._

“Oh, God. Don't tell him that, I beg you. He won't ever let me live it down!” he begs, but David just laughs. 

Man, aliens and their buddies are _fun!_ … Except for the killing people part. He hopes they can fix this up fast, so they can just hang out with the Doctor whenever he shows up. _He_ sounds like fun. 

* * *

This is _not_ fun. Time and space travel, aliens and humans from the past and the future. _That_ was supposed to be fun. Being stranded in 1969 is _not_ fun. 

They have an office in the local police station, courtesy of the military, but the Colonel and his men are as much strangers here as are Rory and David. They aren't UNIT – it doesn't exist yet. And they aren't Torchwood, which, to be fair, Rory is unsure whether it operates outside of Wales at all. Neither the Doctor nor Jack talked about that, and Rory didn't ask, too worried about the Doctor at the time. 

… As he is now, to be honest. He _knows_ he shouldn't, but Rory is still worried about the future. Is the Doctor alright? Will he ever come for him? 

He can't think like that, but it's hard, what with how they left things… 

“Have you seen anything like what happened at the café, Mister Williams?” the Colonel asks, snapping Rory out of his head, and he decides to push his uncertainty aside until the more real problem of whatever is happening here is solved. 

“No, sorry. Have there been more cases like this?” 

“None whatsoever. In fact, it has been almost too quiet since the Great Intelligence's stint with the robot yeti. We have been able to clear London and return the evacuated citizens to their homes without any kind of trouble. Why, the crime rates have gone down as well! The government analysts suspect it's because the gangs and any would-be delinquents are wary of the increased police presence since the evacuation, and that they might be biding their time as a consequence. We are expected to see heightened crime this summer, to make up for it,” the Colonel explains, and David nods with an agreeing hum. 

“You bet. Everyone will want a television by then, and they aren't exactly cheap,” he comments, trying to check the map on the table as inconspicuously as he can. 

“A TV in summer? What about going to the beach?” Rory asks, frowning in confusion and unworried now about breaking an illusion he no longer holds. 

David snorts. 

“Man, is vacation cheaper in the future? I want to see that!” 

“What Mister Jones means is that the Americans' current venture might be more attractive than the beach, for many, and the perfect excuse to buy a television. I believe the Doctor would be proud of mankind for this first step into the stars,” the Colonel elaborates, grinning widely, and Rory frowns— 

“Oh! The moon landing! Yes, that makes sense,” Rory exclaims in realization, feeling stupid. “July 1969, of course.” 

“They do it? They actually do it? It's going to be awesome!” David crows, eyes alight in glee, and despite blowing up the surprise, Rory grins. 

“I'm pretty sure my Doctor would say it's when humans become _truly_ annoying, but I don't think he's found any era where we aren't,” he answers with a shrug, and the Colonel's smile turns hesitant before he shakes his head and smiles once more. 

Yeah, getting used to the idea of someone just _changing_ like that takes some time, but the Colonel's on the right track. 

“If we could get back to the topic at hand…” the Colonel suggests, and both Rory and David sober and return their attention to him. “You've seen the strangest things out of all of us, Mister Williams. What do you think?” 

“I don't think it's anything from Earth. Or, at least, I don't know of anything that could skin people and make everything else vanish. Or _anyone._ It makes more sense if whoever or whatever is behind this is alien, and so has other reasons to do what it did. David, any reason why it would target that café, of all places?” Rory suggests, turning to David with his question, but the other just shrugs. 

“They made the best pies? I don't know. Everyone loved _Janice's._ They had great food, great tea, good coffee… They got a new radio not a week ago, clearest sound in town! I go there – _used to_ go there to listen to the music in the mornings. Good music, good food, good company. _Janice's_ in a nutshell,” he explains with a sad look, turning his eyes to the floor, and Rory grimaces. 

That's right. People died. This isn't just disappearances or a ransacked café – people _died._

They need to stop whoever's behind this before anyone else gets hurt. 

“That doesn't sound like the clue we need. There has been no strange activity since the Great Intelligence – or at least, not that the military have been told about. This precinct doesn't have anything to challenge that claim,” the Colonel sums up, and Rory frowns and takes the screwdriver out of the pocket. 

“Other than everything being peaceful, but you have an explanation for that too. The last case we dealt with, well, not case, but the last strange happenings… It was an alien artifact behind everything, but there were no actual aliens. I don't know the specifics, we didn't have enough time for the Doctor to explain before… Yeah,” he explains, cutting himself as those last words flash again in his mind before he can shake his head and refocus. “The thing is, whatever was in the alien escape pod infected a woman suffering from puerperal fever, and the fever itself became sentient.” 

“That does make sense,” the Colonel hums with a frown, turning the map to himself and grabbing at a folder. 

“What's puerperal fever?” David asks softly, and Rory opens his mouth— 

“What about this device?” the Colonel interrupts, nodding towards the screwdriver in Rory's hands that he had practically forgotten about. 

“The sonic screwdriver. It's the Doctor's, he uses it for practically everything. It opens doors, scans stuff—” 

“Blows up televisions,” David adds, and Rory turns to him with a grimace. 

“I told you I'd pay you back for that!” 

“You used it back at the café, didn't you? Well, what does it say?” the Colonel asks, and Rory's grip on the screwdriver tightens even as he winces. 

“Actually, I didn't. I know some settings, but none of the scanning ones. I was going to use it to poke at the skin flaps,” he confesses, and the Colonel's lips twitch in amusement before he turns back to the map with a sigh. “There might be something in here that we can use, though. The Doctor has bigger-on-the-inside pockets, so who knows,” he adds as he puts the screwdriver down and reaches into the tailcoat's pockets. 

The screwdriver was there, and so is the psychic paper— _traitor—_ and a yo-yo, strangely enough. A box of 'protein pills' is not as unexpected, even if it sends David into a widely grinning glee. And the tiny box— 

Rory's hand stops in midair, holding onto the small box he just pulled out of the pocket. It's dark, square, slightly arched, and it parts in the middle. Tremulously, Rory's free hand reaches for it and flips it open. 

A soft click later, Rory finds himself staring down at a golden ring with a shining diamond on it, carefully and lovingly nested in a burgundy velvet cushion. 

A tear falls on his hand, startling him back to the present to find both David and the Colonel staring at him in worry. 

“Mister Williams, are you alright?” 

“What's that? Is it some kind of alien device? Maybe you should put it down…” 

“It's a ring,” Rory tells them with his voice choked with tears he hadn't realized he was holding back. “An engagement ring. It's an engagement ring in the Doctor's pocket and I'm crying. Why am I crying?” he asks as he closes the box and wipes his eyes with his free hand. “Ugh, sorry, sorry. I don't know why I – maybe it's something in the box, alien spores or something. Must be allergies,” he sniffles, reaching into the pocket for a tissue one-handed, since his other hand seems to _not_ want to let the ring go. “Right, there, done. Let's see if there's something else in here that can be of help,” he adds once he _finally_ puts the ring down, tucking the box in his vest's pocket. 

The Colonel and David exchange a look, but they stay silent, so Rory continues with the search. 

A bag of jelly babies. A wrench. A ball of yarn. A pair of binoculars. A pair of paper 3D glasses. Some kind of small sphere that starts whirring when he accidentally presses the button on it and which sends Rory floating as it cancels gravity, which is reversed by pressing the button again. Some very high-quality doubloons, looks like. A packet of antibiotics that went bad in 2009. A tiny green crystal mounted on a bronze plate, and which seems to glow when Rory touches it. And, perhaps most surprisingly of all, lint. 

By then, both the Colonel and David are wide-eyed and slack-jawed. 

“When you said bigger-on-the-inside pockets, you really meant that…” David whistles, looking at the collection of odd stuff on the table. 

“Like the TARDIS. Bigger on the inside,” Rory answers simply with a grin, before turning to all the weird items as well. 

After about five minutes of carefully handling each and every single one of them, they come to the conclusion that only the screwdriver—and the ring, though they only spare Rory's pocket a look instead of speaking out loud—are _not_ what they look like, and so Rory pockets everything again. Even the lint. For all he knows, it could be alien spores or dust samples or who knows what. 

“That was impressive. Useless, but impressive,” David comments from where he's sat down in one of the chairs, and the Colonel hums in agreement, once more going over the map. 

“I wish I could say I'm surprised,” Rory muses next to the table, fiddling with the screwdriver and trying to remember what each setting does. 

Easier said than done, taking into account there are over 2000 settings and he's barely seen a dozen in action. 

He starts by trying out those the Doctor tried on the Nestene escape pod, and as soon as the screwdriver whirs with the first of them, the door to the office clicks open. 

A soldier standing on the other side, hand reaching for the knob, blinks at them in surprise, and Rory immediately turns the screwdriver off and tries to hide it behind himself. David is laughing, though the sound is muffled by his hands, and the Colonel seems unfazed by it all, simply straightening and turning to the soldier. 

“What is it, Major Thomas?” 

“Sir! I… I've quite forgotten it, Sir. Sorry,” the soldier answers sheepishly, straightening and breaking out of his surprise, and mercifully, the Colonel just nods. “Is there anything you might need help with?” 

“Yes, actually. We'd like to know of any reports of strange behavior or situations in the months before the evacuation. And reports about strange objects or findings, meteors or similar, too.” 

The Major salutes with a 'yessir' and leaves, closing the door after him. And _then,_ David laughs out loud and the Colonel cracks a grin. 

“What? I told you it opened doors,” Rory retorts with his own grin, before turning back to the screwdriver. “Uh, just in case, stay away from any cupboards while I figure this out, alright?” 

“Not to worry, I'll stay as far away from lightbulbs as I can,” David snarks, and this time, Rory doesn't even bother sending him a look, rolling his eyes instead. 

The warning was unnecessary, though, as the drawers don't react to the next settings. The cupboard on the corner clicks open, but they ignore it when it doesn't do anything else. So, Rory fiddles for fifteen minutes more, changing the intensity of the light or tuning the radio to different stations, and even cracking the wall, which earns him a yelp from David and a _look_ from the Colonel, before he puts the screwdriver down. 

“I'll go get some tea. There must be a coffee shop somewhere around here, right? It's a police station, there should be,” he tells his companions, and David immediately sits up. 

“I'll come with. I know one in the next street that's really good. Want anything, Colonel Stewart?” 

“Lethbridge-Stewart,” the Colonel corrects calmly, though he straightens as well and delivers his order without a look, reaching for a notebook. “Also, if you could find Major Thomas and see what is taking him so long, it would be most appreciated. We really need all the information we can get.” 

They agree and leave the room, stretching at last and crossing the precinct without problem. As David told him, the coffee shop is just the next street over, and as Rory takes his first sip, he finds himself agreeing with his assessment as 'really good'. God, he _missed_ his coffee. 

“So, what do you think? About this whole skinning business?” David asks as they walk back to the station, with Rory cradling both his and the Colonel's hot cups in hand and marveling at the fact there were already disposable cups in 1969. 

“I told you already, I don't know. But seeing how it's been only two people… Well, I hope it's a case of a stranded alien, instead of one that is, I don't know, hunting or something,” he muses out loud, taking another sip carefully to avoid burning his tongue. “We can help a stranded alien, when the Doctor gets here. An actually murderous one might be more trouble.” 

“Have you…” David starts, before cutting himself off and looking down an alley by their side. 

“Have I what?” Rory prompts as he stops next to him, frowning softly at his companion's stiff shoulders and silence. “David?” he calls, poking his shoulder, and the man startles and turns to him with wide eyes and pale face. “Whoa, easy! Are you alright?” Rory asks, looking him all over, and David takes a breath and frowns softly. 

“What? Yes, of course I am. Sorry, I got lost in thought there. What was I saying?” 

“Man, I think you need the coffee more than I do,” Rory jokes, taking another sip of his cup – and frowning as he tilts it back to get at the last of it. “What the…? Huh, I hadn't realized I had almost finished it!” he exclaims as they enter the station, and David laughs at his side even as he takes a sip of his own cup. 

“That's what happens when you start – Whoa, yuck, the tea got cold! The cup must've not closed well,” David grumbles as they walk into the office. 

“Finally! I was starting to think I would have to send someone to get you!” the Colonel tells them, and both Rory and David stop in their tracks and look around. 

The other three soldiers that came with the Colonel are in the office, which has been shuffled around to accommodate them and the couple boxes of papers that have been brought in. The map is now hanging on a wall, with some colorful needles stuck on different spots. 

“Uh, sorry about the wait? We didn't realize it took that long,” Rory apologizes sheepishly, handing the Colonel his coffee. 

“More than long enough. I thought you were helping Major Thomas, but when I went to fetch him, I found he hadn't seen you at all since you left the office. Was there any issue at the coffee shop?” he asks as he takes a sniff of his cup, frowning softly. 

“No, sorry about that. We just chatted for a bit,” Rory apologizes yet again, and the Colonel finally relaxes and smiles, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“If all the problems of the world were as simple. Excellent choice of coffee, Mister Jones. Good taste, though I do prefer it a bit hotter,” the Colonel hums, making both Rory and David go red in embarrassment despite his easygoing smile. “Would you like to help us in our search? You might know what we're looking for better than we do, Mister Williams.” 

“Ah, yes. Where do you want us?” 

Paired with Major Thomas, apparently, who sends them an appalled look as soon as the Colonel turns back to organizing what the others have found. 

“I'm sorry about taking so long to deliver this,” the soldier tells them as he hands over some folders. “It had completely slipped my mind.” 

“No harm done, Major Tom,” David answers with a grin, and while Rory rolls his eyes at his companion's cheer, the soldier relaxes enough to grin. 

“Major Tom Thomas. Now that would be the day!” he chuckles, and with their spirits lifted once more, they get to work. 

When they break for lunch, they haven't found much of use. Rory is with the Colonel at the table, reviewing the 'odd happenings' the others have found so far in capacity of 'scientific advisor' – he earns himself a couple of _really_ obvious looks at his outfit with that, as if he couldn't be anything other than a scientist dressed like this – but nothing really pops out as _alien._

And then, as David's offering to go get them some superb sandwiches as an excuse to stretch his legs, there's a knock at the door. 

“Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart? We have a problem,” the policeman tells them simply, and when the Colonel follows him outside the station, the others, including David and Rory, follow. “We received a visit from a very irate woman who had been trying to put a call through about some delinquents but hadn't been able to. When we checked, we found none of our phones had a signal, so we came to check. What do you make of this? Is it related to whatever reason you came here?” he asks as he points down an alley to some cable dangling from a wall, cleanly cut. 

The Colonel turns to Rory, but all he can do is shrug. Cutting phone cables doesn't sound _alien_ enough, either, but without knowing what they're dealing with here, he can't say for sure. 

As thus, the Colonel leaves a couple of his men outside to search for clues, and sends the other with the car to the base in the outskirts to fetch them some short-wave radio to communicate with, in case it isn't an accident. And then, when it's just the Colonel, David and Rory back in the office, he turns to Rory again. 

“Could it be sabotage?” 

“I don't know, really. I guess it depends on the resources they have available, but what could they gain by cutting the phone lines? Who would we call – Oh.” 

“Oh?” the other two repeat with interest and dread, respectively, and Rory rolls that thought in his mind once more. 

“We could try to call the Doctor, if I knew the number. Or you could call the base, to get reinforcements. If they're planning something big, they might want to isolate us. And cutting phone cables is weird, but it isn't _alien._ We wouldn't suspect them, whoever they are,” he explains slowly, and the Colonel's frown deepens. 

“Sound reasoning. We can still use any other phones in town, but this way they have isolated us already.” 

“Does that mean they're _here?_ In the station?” David asks in disbelief, and Rory hesitates before carefully approaching the window. 

The street is full of people walking by, living their lives, as unsuspecting as Rory himself had been before 2008. None of them are acting suspiciously either, so how can he make any kind of choices? He isn't the Doctor. He can't even call him! 

… Or can he? 

“Colonel, is there any way to send a message outside? Not outside the station, but outside outside. As in, space. Some kind of giant radio dish or space station?” he asks, turning to David and the Colonel, whose conversation stops as they turn to him. 

“Close to here? I don't think so, but I can ask. I'm afraid it would be outside my jurisdiction to command one of those, though.” 

“We need to send a message to the Doctor, and that's the only way I can think of,” he huffs, scratching his head with annoyance before looking up once more. “What about the NASA? Could you send _them_ a message to broadcast? You said they're preparing the Apollo 11; they _have_ to have the communication setup for such a thing. We _need_ the Doctor, there has to be a way to call him here.” 

“The NASA? The Americans? Mister Williams, _that_ is most certainly outside my jurisdiction!” the Colonel answers in surprise, frowning. “We would need to get through the government and the United Nations, most likely, for such a stint.” 

“What about UNIT? Can we contact them instead?” 

“Again, Mister Williams, _which_ unit?” 

“The United Nations Intelligence Taskforce! Or Unified Intelligence Taskforce? It's one of those, the Doctor knows them. They deal with aliens. Or Torchwood, if UNIT doesn't exist yet,” he explains as best as he can, but the Colonel's frown doesn't go away. 

“I recognize none of those names. They must not exist yet, Mister Williams. I'm sorry.” 

“And NASA? They _have_ big radios.” 

“Why would the Americans send out a message to the stars for _us?”_ David asks this time, bewildered, before he retakes his seat. “Look, if there's trouble out there, I vote we stay here, _with trained policemen,_ until the radios are back and the phone lines are fixed. We still don't know who we're up against, anyway.” 

Rory sighs, but concedes defeat, turning to the window. 

Oh, how he longs to be just another one of those people, walking down the street and without any kind of world-ending worry on their minds. Like that kid running with his friends, or the woman pulling the trolley, or the pale guy in the suit looking up into Rory's eyes— 

A hand lands on his shoulder and Rory jumps, startled at David's sudden appearance. 

“Whoa, easy! You're way too tense.” 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, reddening at his unnecessary outburst. “Yeah, I need a break. To think I'm willing to take that opera we missed,” he chuckles, relaxing, as he turns back to the window. 

Children playing, mothers with their trolleys and adorable babies. Unburdened people who depend on Rory, on _the Doctor,_ to keep living their peaceful lives. 

Feeling determination warm up his chest, Rory takes the screwdriver out once more and starts fiddling again. 

There has to be a way to contact the Doctor… If he could figure out how to use the screwdriver to, oh, boost the signal of that radio atop the cabinet— 

Wait a second… 

“Should we worry about you playing with that thing again?” David jokes when Rory crosses the room to the radio, turning it on and tuning into an empty station, only static coming out of the speakers. 

“Probably. Stay away from lightbulbs, just in case,” he tells them over his shoulders, frowning down at the screwdriver as he carefully changes the settings. 

He may not know the Doctor's number, but he could potentially boost the settings to send a message. If the stories he remembers of his youth are correct, the psychic paper can receive messages of help from all across time and space. What's to say the TARDIS can't? 

So, he tries – and tunes into a rock station. 

David cheers at his back, but Rory scowls, tunes back into static, and switches the settings. 

Time to try again. 

And again. 

And replace the lightbulb of the ceiling lamp and go again. 

And rescue the radio from the cabinet when it starts to smolder, and try again. 

And break for a sandwich and one more try. 

And brush off the bits of exploded radio and fetch a walkie talkie from the police storeroom, and back to it. 

Rory's about two hours into his experiments, with Majors Thomas and Dean back from scanning the alley without success, and on his fourth walkie talkie, when something finally happens. 

And, just because this is something alien they're dealing with, it's a scream somewhere under their window. 

The soldiers rush out more out of habit than necessity – they are in the middle of a police station, after all – and Rory and David follow, the later cursing under his breath. 

They find a couple of police officers talking to a flustered woman, who is trying to wave them off. 

“Dear me, I'm alright! I apologize for startling you all fine gentlemen, but I can assure you there's nothing to worry about. Just a bug, really, I was startled,” she tells them, and the officers look tired enough to let them know she's telling the truth. 

Still, this gives the soldiers the chance to stretch their legs, and so Rory wanders a bit away from them to avoid all of the cigarettes suddenly coming to life, returning his attention to the walkie talkie once more. 

“Where are you, Doctor? I could use you around here,” he hisses down at it, glaring when it only answers with static— 

The walkie talkie stutters, clicking and _whooshing_ in a way that is _not_ familiar, but a hint of movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention. 

Rory looks up, frowning at the shaded alley on the other side of the road, away from the passerby, and carefully walks towards it, walkie talkie spewing static on one hand and screwdriver on setting 20 on the other. That was the one the Doctor and Semmelweis had used to stall the Fever, so it must do _something._

But the alley is empty, and so Rory's shoulders drop with a sigh. 

“Where are you, Doctor?” he asks the air, looking around once more before turning back to the station— 

_Rrrrory Williamssss…_

Rory freezes, looking down at the walkie talkie in his hand. Was that…? 

“Doctor? Come on, you stubborn alien, say _something,”_ he hisses at the accursed thing, slapping it when the consistent drone of the static stutters once more. “Always babbling and _now_ you decide to shut up?” he asks, and feels something that could _almost_ be hope kindle in his chest when the static crackles in a way that sounds like laughter. “Don't you dare leave me stranded here, _please._ I've got things to do and – and you need me, whether you like it or not. Where are you going to find a non-irritating human that actually does what you tell him and knows your quirks well-enough to translate for you?” he asks more hopefully, modulating the walkie talkie just the tiniest bit— 

The static clears, and what next comes out of the walkie talkie is _clearly_ a voice. 

“I knew I liked you for a reason.” 

Rory's grin is so wide it hurts. 

“Doctor! I mean, Raggedy Man, Starman, whatever you're calling yourself now, where are you?” he asks, pulling the walkie talkie up to his face and feeling his smile fall when the static comes back with a vengeance. “Oh, no, don't you dare!” he shouts, twirling around as he tries to find a better connection before the signal is lost— 

The Doctor grins, tired but sincere, _fond,_ and Rory stops in shock. 

He changed, that's the first thing Rory notices as he gives him a quick look in search for blood. He's wearing jeans, dark mid-calf boots, and a mid-thigh black coat with a paler underside. He has a TARDIS-blue shirt on, and Rory can't help but snort at the text on it. 

_KEEP_  
_CALM_  
_and_  
_RUN FOR_  
_YOUR LIFE_  


That is _so_ the Doctor… which is why Rory bought that shirt in Cardiff for himself, when he went looking for souvenirs with Gwen. She called it a bit simple, but… someone else laughed. Someone else was there, and she laughed, practically shoving it in his hands _as a reminder,_ and he'd scoffed and— 

The Doctor's gone. Rory blinks, a tear that has come from nowhere making its way down his cheek, and the Doctor is gone. The walkie talkie spews static out almost cheerfully as Rory sniffs and wipes his eyes, wondering if perhaps he shouldn't take a nap. All of the paperwork and the worry are getting to him, that must be it. The Doctor looking at Rory with _fondness?_ And wearing his 'keep calm' shirt? Nah, impossible. Rory needs a break. 

So, taking in a deep breath, he turns his back to the empty alley and returns to the station. The others are back in the office, working as before, and so Rory reclaims his chair in the corner and looks down at the walkie talkie and the screwdriver in his hands. 

Alright. Time to get to work. 

* * *

Alien detective work is _not_ what it promised on the tin. David is _disappointed,_ and more than a bit tired of fiddling with papers. 

Paperwork! There are aliens out there and David just spent a whole day sequestered in an office at the police station and looking at old and dusty _paperwork!_

“Is your life always this _boring?”_ he asks Rory as they enter the apartment, and he sighs even as he trudges into the kitchen with their takeout of fish and chips. 

“It's actually quite the opposite. We usually spend the time running, or interacting with the locals as we look for clues as to what is wrong. Today has been a… Well, a _really_ slow day.” 

“Just my luck,” David groans, joining Rory in the kitchen to give him a couple of plates for dinner. 

“I don't know, I kind of enjoyed the slow day,” Rory mocks with a grin, and then proceeds to tell David over dinner what his life usually is like. 

“He fell into a _whirlpool?!”_

“Just wait until you hear about the Neverwere…” 

A couple hours go by like this, between food and beer, and them moving the conversation to the couch and with Rory changing into one of David's turtle-neck sweaters instead of his coat-vest-shirt combo, to be more comfortable. 

“You, my good friend, have _the craziest_ life,” David finally proclaims after hearing the latest story, with Rory and the Doctor stopping an illness that had become sentient. 

“Finally, someone who understands me!” Rory exclaims as he lets his head drop on the back of the couch, and David snorts. 

“No, I'm serious! I've seen weird stuff in Channel Two, but your stories are even weirder. You should sell them to a TV station, you'd make _millions._ Or I could make you some songs about those, but I can't promise they'd sell. It's been tough these last years.” 

“You play?” Rory asks, curious, and David drains his beer and reaches for his guitar. 

“Yeah, I do. Ever since I was a kid, that's all I've ever wanted, but I haven't had much luck lately with the bands I've joined. I've been thinking about a new song, but I don't have much yet,” he explains, arranging himself on the couch and picking the strings to check they're tuned. 

And then, under Rory's attentive eyes, David starts strumming the pattern of the night before. The park, the quiet, the light and the noise coming from nowhere to drop Rory unexpectedly in his life— 

“Oh! I know that song!” Rory exclaims, breaking David out of his trance to see the time traveler gesturing madly on his spot on the couch. “I know that song! What's the name, ugh, what was it… I've heard it before, I swear, what was the name?” 

“You have?” David asks in disbelief, before a grin splits his face. “You have! In the future! Oh, I _knew_ it! I knew I could do it!” 

“Ugh, I can't remember the name…” Rory bemoans, dropping against the back of the couch. “How do the lyrics go?” 

“It doesn't have lyrics, not yet. I just thought of the melody when you fell out of your ship,” David answers sheepishly, though he's too elated by the revelation that his music is _known_ in the future to let it drag him down. 

“Ship. _Ship!”_ Rory exclaims, jumping to his feet and staring at David as if this is the first time he sees him. “That's what it is! Oh, I can't believe it…” he whispers, pacing around before he stops in front of the window to take in a deep breath. 

“Ship? Wait, have you remembered something about your ship? Do you know how to contact the Doctor?” David asks, coming down from his cheer to focus on his new friend once more. 

“What is _that?”_ Rory whispers, leaning closer to the glass, and David frowns softly. “David, why would someone be walking around with a – wait, that's not…” 

_Alien!_ David's mind shouts, and he jumps to his feet so fast that he slams his knee _and his guitar_ on the table. 

“ _Ow!”_

“What happened?!” Rory exclaims, turning around wide-eyed and with the screwdriver in hand, and David grins in embarrassment this time. 

“Sorry! Clumsy old me, you know.” 

“As long as you're alright…” 

“Where's that thing you were talking about? What did you see?” he asks as he finally gets to his feet, leaving his guitar on the couch, and joins Rory at the window. 

“What thing?” 

“The thing! You were talking about someone walking around with something weird!” David answers, looking down at the street, but it appears empty. 

“I didn't see anything… Ugh, sorry. I got lost in thought, I didn't mean to startle you,” Rory apologizes, reddening softly, and David finally notices that he _does_ look tired. 

He's bound to be stressed, stranded in a strange year, without the Doctor or their ship or any way to contact him. 

David's excitement smooths at the thought, and so he just sends him a grin and guides him back to the couch. 

“It's alright, don't think about it. Come on, let's see what they have on,” he tells him as he reaches for the TV— 

Which, he remembers too late, is not working anymore. 

Rory whines and buries his face in his hands. David huffs and goes to the kitchen to get him another beer and some rags to clean the spill— 

And stops as he sees something sparkle outside the window. On-off, zigzagging all over the sky, curving down behind the buildings, down into— 

“The park,” David whispers when he sees the light curve upwards and flash for the last time. “Rory, it's the Doctor! Look, I just saw the light going to the park – I think he's looking for you!” he exclaims as he points to the window, and Rory is by his side in a blink. 

“Where?!” 

“Over there! Come on, Doctor, come back…” 

And they wait with their breath stuck in their throats, tense with expectation – and the light comes back. 

“The TARDIS!” Rory exclaims with the widest smile David has seen yet. “Come on, we're going to lose him!” he adds, taking off his sweater and hastily putting on his shirt and vest and tailcoat, unbuttoned. 

“Right, let's go!” David agrees excitedly, putting on his shoes and throwing a rag over the beer spill so it won't seep into the floor, but not even turning to see if it landed where intended. “Hurry up!” he shouts when he grabs the keys, and Rory rushes past him with the screwdriver between his teeth and buttoning his shirt as well as he can. 

They run down the empty streets of Beckenham at who-cares-o'clock, ignoring the mist crawling down the alleys, and David can't help but laugh. A moment later, when he's finished buttoning up his cloak and securing the neck cloth around his wrist, and with the screwdriver in his hand once more, Rory laughs too. 

They get to the park just in time to see the light ascend once more, disturbing the mist rolling in with the late hour, but neither of their grins dims at the sight. The Doctor has tried twice already – he's not giving up. 

“Come on… Come on, Doctor, you can do it,” Rory whispers as they look up at the sky, huddling under their jackets— 

A branch snaps, and the two of them jerk around. 

Damn, the mist is _really_ thick now. 

“Hello?” David calls, taking a step closer, though he stops when Rory grabs his arm to pull him back, serious and holding tightly to the screwdriver. 

“Sorry, didn't mean to bother. We're just taking some air,” Rory calls with a calm and collected voice, and for a moment, there's only silence. 

David strains his ears, just in case, but he can't hear any more steps, just a weird rattling, like a motorbike going down a far street… or something. Squirrels, maybe? It does sound a bit like a squirrel's chattering, if way deeper and far slower. Probably just his imagination, what with the mist and the shadows of the trees and the faint spots of the light posts being the only thing to light up the park. 

“Man, I wish I hadn't drunk that last beer,” he chuckles uneasily, trying to relax, and while Rory lets go of his arm, he still looks around slowly, carefully. “It was probably just a dog, or a cat. Maybe a fox. I've never seen one here, but that doesn't mean they don't get around.” 

“Maybe,” Rory agrees after a moment, squinting into the mist. “No, hang on. That's not a tree, is it?” he asks, pointing at one of the shapes— 

It… doesn't look like a tree. Tall and thin, yeah, but where are the branches? It almost looks like a person, with the body, and the hands, and the head… 

A revving engine immediately makes them turn around to where they can make out some headlights even through the mist, and a moment later, the voices catch up to them. 

“Isolate the park! Make sure there's no civilians around. If that light is the source of the murders, we don't want to endanger anyone else,” the Colonel is ordering as Rory and David rush to the car, unmistakable after the boring day they've spent together. 

“Colonel! Colonel, it's the Doctor!” Rory shouts, startling the soldiers but making sure they won't be received with hostility when they finally get close enough to make them out. “That's the TARDIS, trying to land. We saw him through the window and ran as fast as we could, but we missed him.” 

“Why, those are excellent news, Mister Williams. Are you the only two in the park?” he asks with a smile, and the two of them nod. “Very well. Let's welcome the Doctor back.” 

And so, Rory, David and the four soldiers trudge back to where David thinks Rory was dropped last night, and they wait, looking up at the sky. 

Now that they're at ground level, and with the mist, it's harder to make anything out, but David recognizes the _whooshing_ sound— 

The lampposts start flickering, and all the soldiers are suddenly on guard, surrounding David and Rory, and there are too many shadows now, those _aren't trees—_

A _wheezing_ sound grows louder as a light flickers from above, but the _whooshing_ and the flickering lights all around grow more intense, more _obvious,_ and David could swear he can almost catch words, something like _Silence must fall—_

“You better be something good!” Rory exclaims, screwdriver in hand, just before it whirrs to life— 

The lampposts brighten and the radios on the soldiers shriek like crazy and David can hear cars revving and roaring and something _shrieking—_

The _wheezing_ drowns it all as something _big_ rushes past them, clearing the mist after itself even as it crashes into the trees with loud _cracks_ that make David flinch and curl further behind the soldiers. 

And then, it's all over. The screwdriver is silent, the lampposts recover their usual glow, the mist curls away from them even as it starts to roll back onto the grass, leaving a clear path to— 

“Is that a police box?” Major Thomas asks softly, though the disbelief is impossible to miss. 

“It's not,” Rory answers in a whisper, but when David turns to him, he sees the smile splitting his face. “It's not, it's _the TARDIS.”_

“ _That_ is your spaceship? It's wood!” David exclaims, and Rory breaks out into laughter. 

The sound of the door of the police box opening is almost as loud as a gunshot, attracting all eyes to it. 

It's impossible to see what's inside, what with all the light coming out of it and the mist blurring the details with the distance, but the figure in the threshold is unmistakable. 

“You're late!” Rory exclaims happily, walking past the stunned soldiers, one confused David and one hesitant Colonel. 

“Rory?” the Doctor—who else could he be?—calls as he steps out of the doors, and now that he's away from the light, David recognizes him. 

Rory's description was spot on. Blond, round face, and his eyes seem to be an almost luminescent amber, wide as they are as he stares at his companion approaching calmly. He's also dressed in outdated clothing, with plain brown pants and a patterned yellow and green vest, and with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He looks disheveled, with his short hair sticking up at odd angles with sweat, and there seems to be some soot on it, as well as his face and hands, that suggests much head-cradling. 

“I told you, you won't get rid of me that easily. Or, well, at least don't leave me in 1969? Please?” Rory answers, and his cheer mellows into unease as he stops his approach, his shoulders bunching up in nervousness. 

The Doctor crosses the distance slowly, carefully, almost like he's approaching a wild animal, though with his wide eyes, David can't help but compare _him_ to a stray cat, trying to trust after much pain. 

… Nah, he's making things up. 

“You mean it? All that you said, about— You actually meant it?” the Doctor asks softly, brokenly, and so focused on Rory that he doesn't seem to notice David and the Colonel taking a couple steps closer. 

“Yeah, well, of course. Why would I say that if I didn't mean it? Like I said, you can be infuriating, rude, freaky, _terrifying…_ But you're my friend. You're practically _family._ There's no way I'm going to leave you all alone,” Rory answers calmly, with a smile clear in his voice, and the Doctor's eyes go even wider and paler, if such was possible. 

And then, he huffs out a laugh, more incredulous than anything else. And another, a bit more amused this time – before he bends in half, cackling so loud and hard that he has to wipe a tear off his face. 

“Oh, yeah, laugh it up. Here I am, opening my heart, and you're laughing. I can't believe you,” Rory grouches, but when he shifts his weight to something more comfortable, his head turns just enough to reveal his face-splitting smile. 

“Ugh, you stupid _stupid_ human! Come here!” the Doctor chuckles, calmer yet still with that inhumanly large grin on his face, before he crosses the distance between them in two long steps and engulfs Rory in a hug so tight that David feels like looking away. 

Especially when, now that his face is hidden from Rory's sight, the Doctor's grin breaks into a pained grimace, eyes shut tightly as he half buries his face in Rory's shoulder, his hands clenching Rory's coat so hard that it's surprising it doesn't rip. 

“Don't _ever_ scare me like that again, you hear me? I'm not losing you too,” the Doctor whispers, and _now_ does David look away, exchanging a wide-eyed look with the Colonel. 

Well, that's… intense. Is it the alien thing, or are Rory and the Doctor really that close? 

… Judging by the way Rory tolerates – no, the way he _returns_ the hug, David bets on the second. 

“You can't lose me, remember? I'm your nurse,” Rory answers as equally softly, but that's enough to make the Doctor laugh again, pulling back at last and wiping his face one last time. 

“Ugh, so much soot… Are you alright? I had so much trouble stabilizing the TARDIS that I was afraid I would get stuck in the Time Vortex, forever drifting,” the Doctor scoffs, wiping his dirty hands on his trousers, and Rory steps back and looks at David and the Colonel with a smile. 

“I'll confess I was a bit worried at first, but I found some good people to help me feel at home,” he answers, nodding at them, and David smiles when the Doctor turns to them— 

And takes in a sharp inhale, eyes wide once more. 

“Brigadier,” he whispers, and David's worried frown turns to surprise as he turns to the Colonel, whose eyebrows are up to his hairline. 

“Colonel, actually. But thank you for the vote of confidence,” he answers with a knowing grin, and the Doctor's surprise turns to a pained grimace. 

“ _Spoilers,”_ he hisses to himself, burying his face in his hands before pulling them away to look at David, his face now stained with soot to the point it's hard for him to keep a polite smile. “And _you!_ Rory, seriously? We talked about this!” he reproaches his companion, who frowns in confusion. 

“What? What have I done this time?” 

“Him! Really? Of all humans on the planet, why did you choose that one? What have you told him?” 

“Uh, nothing? That I'm from the future, and that you're an alien, and we travel in space and time?” Rory answers, hesitantly, and the Doctor twitches before burying his face in his hands again with a groan. “What? What's so wrong about David?” 

“Oh, you know his name, of course you do… And you still did it?” the Doctor asks disbelievingly as he resurfaces once more, and this time, Rory's frown is confused. 

“David Jones…?” 

“David Jones,” the Doctor repeats with a huff, before straightening and meeting David's eyes. “What's your stage name, David Jones?” 

Oh. _Oh._ Does that mean…? 

David's throat goes dry with excitement and expectation, so when he opens his mouth, he only lets out a croak. After a swallow, though, he gets his voice back. 

“David Bowie.” 

Rory's jaw drops. 

“Major Tom! That's the song!” Rory exclaims, earning a sharp bark of his name from the Doctor's part. “Sorry, sorry, it's just, he played the beginning and I _knew_ I knew the song, but I couldn't name it!” 

“I'm going to be famous!” David exclaims happily, turning to the Colonel, who grins widely in turn. 

“And I'm going to be a Brigadier,” he answers in a strangely calm cheerfulness, and the Doctor moans again, like an animal in pain, while Rory winces. “Well, Mister Jones, it seems you have finally joined the select club of those that have had the honor of dealing with the space oddity that is the Doctor,” he adds, and David perks up. 

“Oh, _space oddity._ That sounds _awesome._ I've got to get that into a song.” 

“And me, apparently,” Major Thomas murmurs behind them, grinning tentatively while the other two soldiers chuckle. 

“And you, Major Tom! You'll be the hero of my next song!” he crows happily, and by then, the Doctor has given up on his bemoaning. 

“I'm sorry, I swear!” Rory exclaims with his hands up when the alien glares at him, going as far as to take a step back. “It slipped! And you have to admit it's a lot easier to say 'Doctor' than to say 'the guy who changes his name every day and that, last I know, he went by Sherlock Holmes'.” 

“Wait, Sherlock Holmes? Did he _inspire_ Sherlock Holmes?” David asks, and the Doctor sighs even as he rubs his forehead, further spreading the soot. 

“No, of course not. Well, maybe. I don't know, I can't keep track of everything,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, and Rory turns around to give David the finger-on-lips universal sign of _be quiet, don't ask._

… How is he supposed to take _that?_

“If that is out of the way, may we ask for your help? We believe there to be some alien life form threatening the locals,” the Colonel interrupts before things can get out of hand, and that snaps the Doctor out of his glaring at Rory. 

However, he hesitates – and startles when Rory hands over his coat. 

“Here. I, uh, dragged it with me when I fell out of the TARDIS. It has the screwdriver and the psychic paper and some other things,” he explains softly, carefully, and the Doctor gives him a look before relaxing with a huff. 

“Next time, grab onto the _railing,_ will you? Spare me the heart attack, I don't have any spares,” he answers as he takes the coat and puts it on, immediately taking the screwdriver out of a pocket. 

“You have _two_ hearts.” 

“And I need both of them. Why is this set to setting 2008?” the Doctor asks before David can make sense of that statement, but the sight of Rory reddening makes him simply shrug that off. 

Alien. Two hearts are almost _expected._

“We were surrounded and, huh, it seemed like a good idea? In my defense, I didn't know what it was going to do,” he answers, but the Doctor is already glaring into the mist. 

“Surrounded…?” he repeats softly, almost unheard, before lifting the screwdriver again— 

Something beeps into the mist, and the Doctor is off like a shot. 

By the time they catch up, the Doctor has a small square-ish object in his hands, and he's running the screwdriver over it with a frown. 

“What is that?” the Colonel asks, but the Doctor doesn't look up as he pries open a small compartment to peer inside. 

“Time distortion. A localized time loop – see how quickly the mist is clearing now? _Something_ was keeping it here, locking time and keeping the TARDIS from landing. Someone's been messing with time, _that_ is what the TARDIS detected, why she couldn't land. The question is, where are they now?” he asks himself before rushing back to the police box, and Rory laughs. 

“Here we go, running again,” he chuckles, and without giving them a chance to reply, follows the Doctor inside. 

David and the Colonel hesitate for a second, before they walk past the blue wooden doors. 

And then, when David's sight is used to the light, he feels _his_ jaw drop. 

“Whoa… When you said 'bigger on the inside', I didn't think you meant… Well, _this,”_ he tells Rory as he looks around, at the high ceiling, the glass column, the different levels, the glass floor, the control panel— “Is this seriously a coat rack?” 

“Yes, it's a coat rack,” Rory replies with a knowing smile, and even the Doctor grins as he takes in their expressions despite being busy connecting cables to the small black box. 

“And now, to see if we can get a location,” he says out loud, turning to a flat… _screen-like_ thing that can't be a screen because it's _flat,_ but which shows strange moving symbols like a screen should. “Earth? Oh, so it is a local trying to meddle with time travel…” 

“Could it be the Great Intelligence again?” the Colonel asks, and the Doctor frowns for a second before inputting something else on the console. 

“Yes. No. Maybe? Come on, princess, do this one thing for me… Huh. Alright, not the Intelligence, apparently. But according to what I'm getting, there are no threats at the moment. Ah, but there _are_ traces of artron energy! Temporal shift, I see… Whoever messed with you left as soon as you damaged their tool. Well, no worries. They won't try again,” he muses out loud, before accompanying his last words with a predatory grin. 

“And how are you so sure of that?” Rory asks cautiously, and the Doctor's grin turns so innocent that it's _suspicious._

“Well, I _may_ have some _personal information_ about this next decade. Who knows? Maybe this won't be the last time dearest Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart and I cross paths,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, and the Colonel smiles. 

“I can hardly wait,” he tells the Doctor, who stills with what looks like surprise before scowling. 

“Right, enough of you lot. Out of my TARDIS! I'm not a taxi service, if you want to see space, buy a television! Armstrong will do his moon-hopping on July, and that's all you're getting from me!” he grouches as he makes shooing gestures towards David and the soldiers, while Rory chuckles. 

“Well, clearly! It isn't like this tin can would actually get to space. Time travel, I believe, but _space?_ Not in a wooden box!” David taunts as he puts his hands in his pockets and turns towards the doors— 

Which snap shut right in front of his nose, as the ambient noise of the ship turns to a louder thrumming that makes David reconsider all his life choices. 

“Oh, you want to see space, Ziggy Stardust? You chose the wrong alien for the job,” the Doctor hisses with a large and sharp grin, rushing around the console and flicking switches and pressing buttons, and the ship starts to wheeze and shake and David latches onto the railing with a startled cry. 

“This is _not_ how I planned to end the night!” Major Thomas shouts from where he and his fellow soldiers are holding onto another rail, and the Doctor _cackles—_

The noise and the shaking stop. 

“Here we go! Alright, time to leave the capsule… if you dare,” the Doctor taunts as he saunters to the doors, and the rest step out of his way warily. “Who wants to go first? No one? Oh well. Let's do it together then.” 

And he opens the doors. 

“Holy Christ…” someone whispers at David's back, but he has lost all conscious thought beyond _oh._

They're in space. They're in _space._ Beyond the doors of the alien ship in the shape of a police box there's a carpet of stars and a very blue planet, half of it hidden in shadow. The moon drifts lazily underneath them, David can see its gray surface framing the bottom of the view, but _space—_

“Earth is blue,” Major Thomas whispers as he takes a step closer to the edge. “It's – I know they all said it, the books and the news, but… Oh, God, it's so _blue.”_

“That it is. The Blue Planet isn't called that for nothing,” the Doctor agrees more calmly as he turns to them with a grin. “Now, the TARDIS has an air shell, which is how we're all breathing and protected from the vacuum of space. I've extended it, but the artificial gravity ends here, at the door. So. Who wants to take a spacewalk?” he asks them with glee, and after a minute of gobsmacked silence, Rory steps forward. 

“Shouldn't we have some ropes to anchor us to the TARDIS?” 

The Doctor blinks. 

“You know, I hadn't thought about that.” 

Rory sighs, but the smile making his lips twitch is too obvious nonetheless. 

The Doctor leaves the doors open as he goes to the storage room to fetch some rope, and so David and the others get over their shock and start to _believe_ this is happening while he's gone. 

“Alright, I correct myself. _This_ is why you travel with the Doctor, isn't it?” David asks Rory, who smiles but shakes his head. 

“Not really. I travel with him because we help people. We see amazing things, true, but our main goal is to help. All of time and space, but as soon as someone is in trouble, the Doctor's there to save the day.” 

“And you with him,” the Colonel adds from where he's standing at the doors, smiling at them over his shoulder. “You are quite a remarkable person yourself, Mister Williams. I'm proud to have met you,” he adds, turning to them and offering Rory a hand to shake. 

“You too, Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart. It's an honor.” 

“Alright, children, get in line! Time to play!” the Doctor chirps as he hops back to the main level, face and hands clean of soot and with various lengths of rope in his arms. 

They are all so excited that no one even thinks to correct him. 

And then, faster than he can process, David is floating in space. 

It's a peculiar sensation, that of floating. David thought it would be akin to floating in the pool, but it's nowhere like that. He keeps moving without conscious choice, though he can see some others, Major Thomas especially, who are trying to 'swim' around the police box. 

What a sight that is! A police box in space, with a bunch of soldiers tied to it and floating around like balloons, while a human-looking alien grins at them from the door. 

And the stars… They are always hard to spot in the city, but David has gone to the outskirts to see them before, just driving and then sitting on the hood of his car, looking up at the sky. But from up here, they look very different, even though he can't see how that could be. 

David tries to 'swim' closer to the police box, and when he's close enough, he grabs onto it and sits on the roof to try and give himself an illusion of gravity. 

“What are you thinking?” the Doctor asks, peeking up at him, while the others do somersaults around the box or just let themselves float. 

“It's like… Like everything is moving, but I'm standing still,” he confesses with a small voice, watching the soldiers drift away, even as the moon rolls further from them. “It's… discouraging. Erik and Janice died, _we_ would have died, and there was nothing I could do. And here I am, sitting on a tin can far above the world and… And there's nothing I can do. Earth is blue. The stars are different. And the moon keeps turning, the world keeps turning, and we just drift further away, almost like… Like your spaceship knows which way to go.” 

“Oh, she does. She does and she delivers, sometimes. And it's true, most often than not, there really is nothing you can do. But that doesn't mean you can't do something. It may not mean much, or anything, in the grand scale of things – but it may do _for you._ Or maybe you just don't see it, and you are actually doing something. Every little thing counts, David. For you, if no one else. And in the end, that's all that matters, because _you_ mean something to other people too,” the Doctor tells him softly, and when he looks down, David sees him smiling at Rory, who is trying to synchronize somersaults with Major Thomas under the Colonel's guidance. “Don't let a moment of helplessness or uselessness define you, David. You've said it, things are always changing. But it's up to you to change them for the better. So, don't blow it. It'll all be worth it someday,” he adds, meeting David's eyes with his last words. 

His eyes are a blazing green now, and David can't help but answer with a tentative smile. 

“We could use someone like you on Earth,” he comments, but the Doctor snorts and turns to the others, floating around and laughing without a care. 

“What for? You've got to let the children try it all for themselves if they are to learn something. They'll steal and lose and make a mess of everything, but they'll learn. And one can only hope, they'll make something better out of it all.” 

“I hope you're right, Starman. I hope you're right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Before anything else, **question:** Would you prefer if I split the episodes into smaller chunks, instead of posting them into one huge fic? They usually round 20k words, so the episodes would be 3-4 5k to 7k long chapters, depending on where the scenes end.
> 
> Now, for the actual notes:
> 
> I actually wanted to write _The Lodger,_ but Rory didn't want to cooperate... I wrote this episode in two days, after battling against _The Lodger_ for weeks. The reason for the change? I heard _Starman_ and everything suddenly clicked, so I decided to give it a try. It worked.
> 
> I know there are _a lot_ of loose ends, but they'll be fixed in the next episode. The part that was going to be the 'epilogue' didn't go well with the rest of the episode, so I took it out.
> 
> Who recognized David before his stage name was given? What gave it off? I'm curious.
> 
> Also, the 'bad guys' aren't in the tags because spoilers, but I hope you all recognized them, if maybe not all the spots they show up (tip: look at where the scenes are choppy). They weren't in the original draft, it was supposed to be _The Lodger_ but in 1969, but they inserted themselves and hijacked the show. I'm not complaining, it was actually quite fun to write, and it fits neatly in the plot.
> 
> Sorry, Craig and Sophie. I actually like you guys, but the story didn't work with Rory there. There were some fun scenes, but it just wasn't meant to be. Have some Rory Williams-David Bowie bromance instead, with the guest appearance of everyone's favorite Brigadier (even though I haven't made him justice...).
> 
> Also, side note, the Second Doctor's episodes are hard to find. I haven't actually watched _The Web of Fear,_ which is the Brigadier's first appearance, as a Colonel. I've mostly used wikis and whatever info I could find online. Feel free to correct me on any messes you spot, please. The only Brigadier I know is from the Third Doctor up...
> 
> Next time: A Time Lord, a nurse and an archeologist walk into some ruins... (Need I say more? *wink wink*)


End file.
